


In Another World

by brianmight



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Gen, Time Travel, Uhm, just a lot of confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 16:53:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17186777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brianmight/pseuds/brianmight
Summary: in another world / under another sky / I see another story waiting to be told70s Brian wakes up from what he believes is an innocent nap at Ridge Farm- except he now suddenly finds himself in a trailer that belongs to one Gwilym Lee. Aka both Bri and Gwil become the human embodiments of the “I am confusion” vine.





	In Another World

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little one-shot I did based on an ask I received on my tumblr @brianmight! Enjoy <3

A distinct lack of animal noises greeted the guitarist’s ears the moment he became conscient. The somewhat ominous silence was hardly noticed though, as his senses still dwelled under the narcotics called sleep. Lazily, he brought a pair of fingers towards his eyes, yawning as he did a fruitless attempt to wipe the weariness away. Ironically enough, the gesture only seemed to blur Brian’s vision more. He shifted and allowed his legs to dangle over the sides of what his numb brain assumed to be his bed, but anyone present would have correctly identified the piece of furniture as a leather sofa. Not Brian, though, who found himself on the thin border between reality and a subconscious dreamland. The rest had been well-deserved after sleepless nights of recording, which was all they could do to limit the exceedance of the album’s deadline. Stress was evident all day long at Ridge Farm and nested into the backs of their minds, only to emerge to the surface in the shape of yells and frustrated sighs. Quarrels became more common by the minute. Recording drained all his energy, turning the atmosphere even less agreeable. Surely, there were pleasant moments too among the quartet; instances of laughter, amity, and relief. But they had become rare and were usually overshadowed by the abundance of arguments.

Another yawn fled his lips, only just evading the man’s nearing palm that was supposed to suppress the flow of air. He slowly raised himself from the surface he’d been sitting on. For the first time since he’d woken up, Brian fully opened his eyes instead of gazing through tired splits. They instantly widened. His reflection in the glass of a horizontal window gazed back at him, omitting an equally surprised feeling. Carob curls were a tangled and utterly untamed mess upon his head, particularly as one side was slightly flattened due to the pressure it suffered during the brief sleep. It wasn’t his appearance that perplexed the guitarist, though— it was the window itself that caused his brows to knit together in bewilderment. It shouldn’t be there. Nor did he recall the soft cream walls it was connected to. Nor the potted fiddle leaf fig before it. It took far too long to dawn upon him that he found himself in an entirely different room than where he’d drifted off. Where were the old-fashioned embroidered curtains? The slightly cracked wallpaper? The bed with its squeaky mattress? Now, there was a simple yet comfortable couch in its stead. The dimly-lit bedroom was completely replaced by the bright interior of what Brian guessed was some sort of caravan, and he was absolutely certain he’d never been there before. The gears inside his head slowly awoke and attempted to make sense of the situation. Had intoxication played a part? Did alcohol prevent him from remembering how on earth he ended up where-ever he was? No, that couldn’t be it— Brian seldom imbibed enough to affect his memory in such a severe manner. He preferred to keep a clear head. Sleepwalking, then? Unlikely.

A door opened behind him, briefly allowing noises from outside inside the trailer before dimming them again. Brian peeked over his shoulder before completely turning around. At first glance, the sight that greeted him seemed nothing more than an ordinary mirror; just another perfect reflection like the window had given him. Indeed, both figures shared the very same touch of confusion on their identical faces. Upon further inspection, however, Brian came to the unexpected and somewhat unnerving realization that _there was no glass_. Nothing to reflect his image, which could mean only one thing: an exact duplicate of him stood in the trailer. Copy nor antecedent moved for what felt like minutes, frozen at the sight of the other soul. Baffled to the very core, Brian broke the silence with one whispered syllable: “ _What_ -”

As if his voice had been the trigger, a Heineken can, which the other man must’ve taken from the minifridge next to the door, slipped free from the guy’s fingers and fell straight on the oaken floorboards. Time instantly melted from its frozen state and continued with rapidity. The familiar stranger sighed and managed to pull himself out of the bewildered trance - unlike Brian - by bending one knee to clean up the mess on the ground. “Christ, you scared me there for a second!” he mumbled with relief spreading across his features in the form of a lopsided grin. There was still a tinge of uncertainty visible in his eyes, though, as if there was something he couldn’t quite fathom. “I didn’t know I needed a stunt double. What is it you have to do? Crowdsurf?”

While the other continued as if nothing odd had occurred, Brian stood nailed to the floor. Unblinking eyes studied the fellow, gazing at the long curls, the mouth and jaw— a combination he before had only seen in photographs of himself. Not to mention the other man’s outfit: a navy varsity jacket. Jeans. White wooden shoes. Apart from the slight lack of velvet, it would not surprise Brian if he had those exact garments in his own closet. Merely one factual error did he spot: the eyes. Those irises were far too blue. It reassured him slightly and soothed his perplexity to the extent where he could breathe normally again. Muscles relaxed when Brian arrived at the only conclusion that seemed somewhat logical: it was nothing but a prank. It must be. Typical Roger. The clogs were a finely added detail with a mocking undertone.

“…. _stunt double_? I’m no stunt double, mate,” he dismissed with one raised eyebrow, handing the kneeling guy the kitchen towel that hung on the armrest of a chair. “Did Rog set you up to this? How much did he pay you to dress up as me?” However much Brian tried to come up with a rational basis for whatever was happening, none of it would make sense. Was this all part of the jest? Creating a copy of him, emphasizing how replaceable his role in the band was? An odd tinge of irritation arose beneath Brian’s skin as he rose to his feet at the same time as the other guy, who appeared to be equally puzzled. “I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about.” Denial. Of course. This was exactly how his bandmates would play it. Brian clenched his jaw, reminding himself that it wasn’t the stranger’s fault and it wouldn’t be fair to blame him for his colleagues’ awful sense of humour.

“Or was it Freddie?”  
“Freddie, as in _Freddie Mercury_?”  
“The one and only. Well? Was it him?”  
Silence. If confusion were to be personified, the living and breathing prototype was standing right in front of Brian. Something in his demeanour hinted that his bewilderment was absolutely sincere, but the guitarist tried to look past that. If he was genuinely surprised, that would mean Brian’s hypothesis about the prank was incorrect, and he couldn’t give any other explanations for what was happening without being labelled a madman.

“If you’re not a stunt double, who are you? And how did you get in here?” the replica asked, evading Brian’s inquiry as he tossed the towel on the chair again without breaking eye contact. The question seemed innocent enough. To Brian, however, it was just another sneer against his individual self; a joke gone too far. A joke. That was all this was. Even if it wasn’t, it would be if he just kept repeating that idea in his head. A stupid prank. Nothing that harmed his sanity. 

“ _Who are you_?” the man repeated, the frown on his forehead indicating that he was already aware of the answer but refused to accept it without the ultimate confirmation; almost as if the truth was far too surreal to be true. “You’re not actually…. - you look identical to him. I have watched God knows how much footage of him and you look _exactly_ …. ” His stammering voice was gradually reduced to silence. Disbelief was firmly established in the stranger’s eyes. The situation was much like how Brian imagined a fan to react after running into their famed idol, but it seemed improbable that was the current case. Queen was not that famous. Perhaps it was the hair that made him more distinctive. It didn’t matter: Brian was still no closer to clarification and at this point, he felt like he was hovering on the thin edge between confusion and insanity. He bit on the inside of his cheek, soon tasting the faint rust of blood, which was received with no alarm as his mind was far too occupied with other problems.

“I’m Brian, if that’s what you’re asking,” he confirmed and immediately wanted to fire another question at him, only stopped by the audible gasp that escaped the other’s mouth. Where the guy’s lips had formerly been shaped in a perplexed oval, they now transformed into a careful yet no less bemused smile. Brian sensed another surge of bafflement and felt simultaneously startled.  
“Why are you looking at me like that?”  
“You’re… actually young Brian May?”  
“Relatively young, I suppose, but—”  
“Is this a dream? Pinch me.” The stranger, still sporting the paradoxical amusement, slowly extended an arm in Brian’s direction. That was it. The guitarist took a firm step back as the anxious feeling in his stomach arrived at its boiling point. Breaths grew heavier, and he only just suppressed a raised voice as a pleading question filled the air. “Can you please tell me what the hell is going on here? I feel like I’m going utterly mad.”  
The other man’s smile vanished somewhat. His eyes were wide once again.  
“— I share that feeling, believe me. Though not as much as you do,” he added quickly, again lifting his arm but this time for an amiable shake. “The name’s Gwilym. I —- - play you.” Clearly, the sentence hadn’t been thought through before being uttered, for the hesitation in Gwilym’s voice nor the puzzled expression on his features could hide the awkwardness that the verb brought along. Brian frowned and slightly shifted his head to study the other from tip to toe once more. “… in which sense of the word?” He shook Gwilym’s hand with caution.  
“As in portray. In a film.”  
“A film about _me_?”  
“About the band. Freddie, mostly.”  
“Do you mean a promotional video for the new album?” His own suggestion only confused Brian more. It made zero sense to use actors for such a video. Besides, half the songs weren’t even recorded yet. He rested his hands on his hips in a slightly pensive manner while waiting for the ultimate answer that would make everything comprehensible.

Gwilym paused, visibly unsure what to reply. He cast a quick look at the window as if signalling for help, or at least some sort of guidance in the peculiar conversation. After several seconds of stroking his own chin, he rolled his eyes and let out the following words in defeat: “Why don’t you see for yourself?”  
Without saying another word, he stepped towards the door, tugged it open and stepped outside, leaving a baffled Brian behind in the trailer. The guitarist hesitated. _See for yourself._ There’d been something mischievous in Gwilym’s tone, as if he knew he was messing with something he shouldn’t be meddling with. Altogether, that only made Brian more tempted to follow him. He looked around one last time, desperate for something familiar to cling onto and turn everything back to normal again. A failed attempt. The inviting door stood ajar, begging to be opened, and it took only a few seconds before he gave in; his hand rested on the latch, and for some reason he could not fathom he closed his eyes as he pulled the entrance open.

Brian did not know what to expect. Outside air, perhaps. Voices. People rushing around. When his eyelids parted, there was nothing of the sort. Only the old wallpaper, the murky curtains, the knitted blanket underneath which his numb limbs lay. The shrill of a rooster pierced through his bedroom window, announcing his return to the present. He let out a laugh of relief as his head fell back on the pillow. It had been nothing but a foolish dream! The captivating details of his vision had caused him to consider it reality, and still was his chest beating in anxiety.

Both Roger and Deaky were sat at the dining table, devouring their breakfast while engaged in such a deep conversation they didn’t notice Brian entering. He rubbed his temples as he made his way to the fridge, in his passing catching two fragments of their chat:  
“—— and that was when the chap with the perm introduced himself as Joe.”  
“That’s one messed up dream, but I bet it was nothing compared to mine.”


End file.
